War Stories
by THElaughingUNIVERSE
Summary: A true war story, if truly told, makes the stomach believe.
1. A True War Story

Authors Note: This will be a continuing project with stand alone chapters. It is basically a medley of stories about the war, inspired by the War and Literature course I'm taking. Quotes (including the one used in the summary) are taken from Tim O'Briens The Things They Carried.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Harry Potter or it's characters. I am making no profit with this project.  
**Warnings:** Possible DH spoilers. Possible graphic scenes.

**War Stories**

**A True War Story**

_And in the end, of course, a true war story is never_

_about war. It's about sunlight. It's about the special_

_way that dawn spreads out on the river when you know_

_you must cross the river and march into the mountains_

_and do things you are afraid to do. It's about love and _

_memory. It's about sorrow. It's about sisters who never_

_write back and people who never listen. _

_-Tim O'Brien  
__The Things They Carried_

I asked my dad once to tell me a war story. A _true_ war story. The history books and newspaper articles were all embellished with stupid things about prophecies and fate and crap. None of them actually said what war was like. None of them actually told a story. So I asked my dad.

He was sitting at his desk writing a letter. He put the quill down after I asked my question and turned to face me. Doing that Dad thing where he leaned forward with his elbows on his knees looking old and wise. Or at least that's what I thought what he was doing. It annoyed me for a minute. Then he looked me right in the eye and I realized he was just trying to be level with me.

"Impossible." he said.

I frowned because my dad had never said that word to me before. 'Impossible' was not a word in the Potter vocabulary.

"Why?" I asked, and then felt abruptly like I was intruding. But he wasn't angry. He got down out of his chair and sat on the floor across from me, his legs folded.

"The only way to tell a true war story Albus, is to live it. I could tell you stories, but you wouldn't understand them and they wouldn't be true until you did." _Now_ came the sharp Dad look. "And I am hoping you never do."

"I don't get it." I mumbled. It was frustrating. Even my teachers agreed that there was very little I didn't understand, or wouldn't after a decent explanation.

"War is a different world. And when you compare it with this world" he gestured around him "there isn't any of it that makes sense. Even when _I_ look back there are some things I will never really get. Stuff I still feel can't have really happened."

It was starting to sink in.

"There are some things that just can't be properly described." I said in the voice I used when I wanted to sound 'wise beyond my years.' Dad smiled at me.

"Exactly." He stood up. "And why would you want to understand war anyway?" His back was turned to me before he finished. "It's such an ugly thing."

I still had one last question. It was the one that could get me in trouble. So I pitched my voice softer to make myself sound meek. "Dad? Did you ever kill anyone? Besides Voldemort I mean."

My dad looked at me for a long time before he answered. And I could tell I'd made him sad. I looked away, feeling guilty. I realized it was the brash, unthinking sort of question my brother James would ask.

"Yes." Dad said quietly. "I did." Then he knelt down. His movements were slow and serious. My stomach twisted uncomfortably around itself because I hadn't meant to make him upset. "Are you okay?" he asked me. I wasn't, and neither was he, so I threw my arms around his neck and hugged my dad as hard as I possibly could. He put his arms around me.

"I'm sorry." I said into his shoulder.

"Oh Albus," he said, and I'd never heard his voice sound the way it did. "You don't need to apologize for a curious mind." And he just held me. And it was one of those other things that Dads do. Where they make you believe that they have never regretted a single thing you've ever done or said.

I cried a little, not even knowing why I was so sad. And my dad rocked me. And when I was done he smiled and winked and I knew no one would ever hear of our conversation. I felt a little bashful. Almost twelve and I still cried to my dad. But he didn't mind, and since James wasn't around I didn't mind that much.

A couple of days later I realized I'd gotten the only true war story he could give.

It was about _me._


	2. Shame

_A true war story, if truly told, makes the stomach believe._

_-Tim O'Brien_

_The Things They Carried_

Neville's first beating remembered him. Whenever he closed his eyes for too long or relaxed too much in a peaceful place. The moment would recall he had been there, and would come rushing back. It reached like long fading fingers from behind him and dug into his shoulder, gaining substance from his distracted mind.

It was years ago. He'd been seventeen and he'd earned it in his fifth Dark Arts class of the year. He couldn't recall how exactly he'd earned it or if he had ever known.

The moment would squeeze and remind him of the agonizing anticipation. Of the hot shame that took his face, the bone quaking terror. He'd been so scared. The hands on his shoulders were pinched tight, shoving him down some unnamed hallway. His feet had felt like impossible cinder blocks and he kept tripping over them. He had been thinking at the moment that it was the adrenaline that was making him shake so hard. But really it was the fear. It struck at his core in thunderbolts.

He was blind and dumb with it.

Not at all the demeanor of a Gryffindor.

A dull ache started in Neville's nose, reminding him how it had been more or less his face that had opened the door to the empty classroom. For the briefest of moments his fear had acted like an anesthetic, numbing him from the pain. Then it stared, splitting open wider with every passing second.

He couldn't see past the tossing white it brought to his eyes.

Something like a fist, or a knee maybe, connected into his stomach and the burning pooled out from the point of contact, doubling him over. Another blow to his face divided his concentration.

He would have expected that to make it easier, having to concentrate on more than one pain at a time. But the fact was it just made it hard to concentrate on anything.

He landed on his back eventually, no longer possessing the energy to move. He covered up his face and curled onto his side.

The jeering ceased, or maybe his ears stopped listening; and he was floating in a red hot pool of silence. He had no idea what _he_ was saying at that point, but his body was wracking with something. Screams maybe, or sobs, or both. At one point he thought to ask for mercy, to beg until the hitting stopped.

Whether or not his mouth actually formed the words he was unaware.

Eventually the hitting did stop and the emptiness became emptier. Neville lay still, curled on his side, coughing occasionally. His lips were wet and the dirt from the floor kept sticking to them but he couldn't move enough to wipe them off or roll over.

Distantly some part of him that had paid attention to one of Madame Pomfrey's lecture was telling him _You're in shock._ Then the voice trailed away and there was nothing left for him to do but feel.

He felt like fucking hell, and he slowed started to fade away. Become ethereal. He was like an invisible mist, unseen, unnoticed.

When his mind came back to him he was sobbing relentlessly into the grimy stone and someone was attempting to talk to him. His fingertips clawed in spasm at the cracks in the floor and his entire body was one large throbbing nerve. He felt sick. Gentle hands turned him over.

He tried to cringe away from them.

"Neville?" someone said softly.

Neville turned away from the voice. Underneath the swirling sickness hot shame started to boil. He was weak. He was broken.

"_Holy shit_, look what they did to him." Voices father off.

"He's bleeding a little."

"That's a _little?_" Someone else was kneeling in front of him now. "Neville man, can you hear me?" Neville whimpered and tried to hide away again. He wanted to go back to being invisible.

"Neville, snap out of it!"

"Shut up, don't yell at him. He probably can't even realize who we are, he's in shock. Come on, we need to get him to Madam Pomfrey."

Neville fought a little, with whatever energy was in his arms and legs. He didn't want to go to see Madam Pomfrey, he wanted to become smoke, to blow away.

He screamed when the hands touched him.

He was quiet and in a bed when he woke up again. The world came completely to him this time and he was fully solid. Luna was sitting beside him, her large eyes looked up from the magazine and she leaned forward. Apprehension was in her face and she whispered as if afraid he might begin to scream again.

"Neville?" she asked.

"Hey Luna." Neville's voice felt tight around the swelling in his neck. He wondered how that had happened.

She lunged, making him jump, and threw her arms around his bruised shoulders. "That was so brave!" she sniffed.

Neville shook his head sharply, trying to shake the rising blood from it.

"No it wasn't."

Luna looked at him. She didn't understand.

Neville pulled away and prayed in vain that she never would. He kept his arms at his sides despite the urge to wrap them around himself. He could feel something in his stomach. A clenching unease.

The sickness he felt that day never went away. It was still there, every time he was remembered by it. Every time he was taken back to relive it.

It still made him turn toward a corner and walk away. Still made him hide his face so others wouldn't see the shame. Wouldn't know what a coward he'd been. What a coward he'd been made.


	3. Love Story: Part One

**Warning: **Chapter contains slash and language.

**Love Story: Part One**

_I'll picture Rat Kiley's face, his grief, and I'll think, _You dumb cooze.  
_Because she wasn't listening.  
__It _wasn't _a war story. It was a _love_ story.  
-Tim O'Brien  
The Things They Carried_

"Damn –it Sirius we're in a war!"

"You think I don't know that!" Sirius whirled on me; his hand slammed again the wall. "You think every fucking minute of every fucking day I don't know that! Every second I'm stuck in this house you don't think I know that! I'm useless! I can't do a damn thing to help the order, pardon _me_ for being a little restless!"

I was halfway back to a more usual level of stress, something that made me see a little less red, until that last sentence. My anger geysered up of it's own accord.

"OH!" I yelled back. "And that's a reason to go and risk your neck needlessly! Back in the first war a stunt like that might have worked but Voldemort has Peter now! He's going to _know_ you're an animagi!"

Sirius barred his teeth.

"I went to see my godson on his way! I was worried about him!"

"You were _antsy_! You just wanted a little excitement! I know you Sirius, and I know how you are! I would have thought that twelve years in Azkaban might have matured you a little-"

I stopped.

Sirius's eyes told me I had gone one step too far. As the lead dropped in my stomach I dropped my face into my hands. I could feel Sirius moving away from me, edging along the wall so he wouldn't have to come too close. His defenses were slammed up. He moved around me to the center of the room, now I was the one at the disadvantage.

"Is that what you think of me." he whispered.

"No Sirius. You know that's not-"

"No Remus, I don't know! I haven't known for twelve fucking years! We were brothers, we were friends! I stood by that and spent half my life in Azkaban for it. Labeled a fucking _traitor_ by the only people I ever trusted." He was advancing now. His anger had gotten the better of him. I was just starting to understand how betrayed he must have felt.

His hand pushed against my shoulder. "Don't hide your face from me." he snarled. "Don't go acting like a coward."

But I was, I was a coward. And I felt like a fucking idiot, and his insult was so close to home I could nothing but push back against the truth of it. My hands dropped and balled into fists.

"Don't call me a coward." I hissed. Don't you ever-"

"But you were weren't you." Sirius said softly, shoving me again. I stumbled and my back hit the wall. For a moment I thought he was going to hit me, but he didn't. That made him the bigger man. "Your anger proves it. You didn't think I was capable of turning on James and Lily. But you let me rot in that place anyway. I bet you didn't even speak up."

"All the evidence said-"

"What did _you_ think Remus!? A smart guy like you must be able to think for yourself! I spent twelve years, betrayed, in the closest place to hell on this earth and you have the fucking stomach to tell me I haven't matured. To treat me like an adolescent. That makes you a _coward._"

I punched him. "Fuck you!" I yelled. "Fuck you Sirius and your whole god damned family!" I knew, even as the words left my mouth, that they were the words of a coward. But I didn't care. I was too scared, too angry, to stop. "You have _no right_ to go risking your neck like that!"

Sirius opened his mouth. I hit him again to make him shut up. Make him listen. His left hand still clutched at my shoulder, it tightened, but didn't let go.

"Your life isn't so indispensable! You have people who care about you! People who would _hurt_ if you let yourself get killed just because you were _feeling useless._ What about your godson, Sirius? What about _me?_!

"I promised myself I'd tell you. I promised that if, by some miracle, I got you back again I would make myself tell you! But now I wonder if you're even _worth_ it." I didn't mean that last sentence, not by a long shot.

Sirius had gone quiet. The rage had fled from his face. It silenced me, took the fight right out of my bones. I turned my face away.

"What did you promise yourself you'd tell me?" he asked. His voice was soft, rational. I felt like a teenager again, brought back to sense by a patient teacher.

I bit my lip and told myself to stop being such a coward.

Looking him in the eyes was like ripping out a deep splinter. It stung. And it made me reflect on the stupid mistake that had gotten me the splinter in the first place.

"I'm in love with you-you fucking idiot." I couldn't hold his gaze. I wanted to walk away and disappear but his hand kept me in place. I stared up at the ceiling and closed my eyes. "I always was."

Sirius let me go and took a step back. "I...I can't believe I didn't see it. That's why you were always..."

"Yes."

"Remus, man...I..." Sirius sat down in a chair. "I feel like a total ass."

"Don't."

"No, I'm serious. The jokes I made, the way I treated you. I-I'm really sorry."

I waved my hand dismissively, still unable to look at him. "It's okay. I should be apologizing anyway. I didn't mean what I said, about you being immature or unworthy."

"Hey, I know. And you had every reason to be mad. I was careless, you were right."

I looked him and there were tears in my eyes.

"Oh Remus, I wish-"

My heart was breaking in my chest.

"You don't have to say it."

"I wish I could love you back. That way."

Snap.

"Sirius you can't help the way you feel." My voice was giving way to the tears. But I wasn't embarrassed, because I _couldn't_ help the way I felt. And right then I felt like my beating heart was being ripped out of my living chest.

I stared at Sirius, who stared back at me, pale and concerned, and thanked God that he was at least alive. Then I nodded, and took a deep breath, and left. I told myself it was all for the best, chances were one or both of us wouldn't survive this time around anyway.

How was I supposed to know? There must be a reason that we can only remember the past and not the future. Maybe because if we _could_ see the future we wouldn't take any chances, we wouldn't bother. We'd never let ourselves fall in love and we'd float apart faster than this failing universe. Alone and isolated, drifting...

Sirius waited for two weeks until he had me alone. I don't know how he managed it; I'd been avoiding the possibility of such a situation as though my life depended on it. It was cowardly, again, but I didn't want any more hurt.

It was after a meeting of the Order, the others were in the kitchen still, saying goodbye. Sirius pulled me aside, into the same room where we'd fought, and closed the door.

"Remus we're in a war." he said.

"I know." I told him.

"And that's why I couldn't let this opportunity pass. I've been thinking...and for all that I ran away and forsook the name I think that maybe I might be just as near sighted and blind as my parents were. There are some things I still have trouble coming to grips with, wrapping my head around you know? I must have inherited the Black strategy for dealing. Repress and deny."

I looked at him blankly. "What are you saying?"

Sirius put his hands on either side of my neck and I was suddenly short of breath.

"I'm asking you if you won't stay the night."

He pushed me back against the wall and kissed me. His hands moved down to my waist and I locked my arms around him like he might vanish if I let go. I kissed him back and allowed myself to be led into the bedroom. Why? Because I was in love and love is blind.

And there was no way I could have known how my love story would end.


End file.
